2020-04-10

COVID-Insomnia





My restive brain a twitching heap,
I pray the Lord will soon send sleep;
and, as the clock ticks two, then four,
I pray the Lord will send some more.

It’s not that I’m upset or scared,
but only that my mind’s not spared
from thoughts that wriggle and ferment,
that come without express consent.

But maybe there’s a way to cope.
When, wide awake, I stare and grope
for thoughts to still my troubled head,
there’s something I can try instead.

So many folks are now beset
by hopelessness 'mid mounting debt;
so many sick and quarantined,
no matter how they’ve scrubbed and cleaned.

I’ll pray for those who come to mind;
for some, I know, are in a bind,
while others’ needs are hidden deep.
And then I bet I’ll get to sleep.



This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License

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